Some Things Can't Be Helped
by PimmyJalmer
Summary: Battered and broken, Kelsey Tremont and her drunken father move into Tulsa, Okalahoma. Starting over, Kelsey got way more then she bargained for when she meets the Greasers.
1. Chapter 1

To most people when they look up at the sky, it's usually blue. When I look up at the sky, it's gray. The deep blue sky usually means that they're going to have a great day, without any care in the world. But to me, my sky is always gray. I've never had a blue sky day. Because when you have a blue sky day, you're happy, but since I'm never happy, and it always seems like I'm stuck in own hell, my skies are never blue, but gray. Always.

I once had my fairy tale, but my castle came crashing down, so now I'm stuck here.

I turned my back on the window, silently cursing the gray sky. I glanced around my new room: the white walls, empty closet, and the broken window that I now hated. Another house, another city, another life.

My father never liked to stay in one place. He demanded, more like forced, us to move around to a new place every so often. He would always claim to me in a drunken matter as I would load up the boxes into my truck, that he just wanted new scenery. But I knew behind his drunk slurring that he was just worried that the police station at where he worked would start doing regular screenings of the staff. Of course it would never happen, but sometimes things can't be helped.

He was a heavy alcoholic, getting drunk usually every night of the week. Coming home drunk and upset, my father would often grumble about the jackasses he worked with or about how the price of a six-pack was too much for his paycheck. Still, it never stopped the drinking, or the swearing, or his demanding attitude. I would often lay low, hidden in my room with the door locked, until he cooled down for the evening before making my escape through the rest of the house. I usually got the punches and slaps of him when he was too drunk to function or when I didn't get dinner onto the table fast enough. Like I said, some things just can't be helped. Especially in my father's case.

"KELSEY! GET YOUR UNGRATEFUL ASS DOWN HERE NOW!"

I heard my father's screaming right through the floor of our house, or should I say fire house. We had moved into not a usual house, but Tulsa Oklahoma's old run-down, beat up fire station. My father loved fixer-uppers, but they never did get anywhere with him passed out on the couch.

You couldn't even tell that this place even was a fire house, unless you counted the fire escape outside my window and the hole in the floor in the hallway where the old fire pole is. With the place's old red bricks cracked and not properly installed, the cracked sidewalk and steps outside, the dead flower beds and the fact that the roof was in shingles told you that the place was not well kept. Like I said, something can't be helped.

I raced down the stairs, and came across my father, standing right at the bottom of the steps, waiting for me. His dark brown hair, like mine, was untidy and in his face. He was still in his police uniform, right with the captain's badge on the front, where it should be but on someone else's chest. I could tell that he was drunk, from his blood shot green eyes and the smell but also from the fact that he was swaying slightly on his feet. I stopped about halfway down the stair-well, looking at him.

"Yes dad?" I said bravely and confidently. I wasn't scared of my father, like most people would think if they knew. I knew if I was strong enough and stayed mostly out of his way, not much harm would come to me.

My father didn't move, just stared at me, before speaking again, his words slurry. "I'm going to the bar. The workers will be here at. Stay here or you'll get it." I nodded at him, and watched as he turned around and walked through the living room. I knew he was gone when I heard the front door slam with a loud _bam_.

I sighed, grateful that he hadn't taken my truck. Most of the time when he took it on his usual pursuit for the local bar the windshield would get cracked or the tires would be slashed and ruined when he tried to drive it home. I soon knew more about cars then the local mechanic because I would make sure he would double check everything. If my car broke down, it would be like cutting off my leg. I usually had to work at least two jobs to pay the bills and to support my dad's recreational drinking habits, which reminded me of the fact that I needed to find a job, or else we'd be getting calls from the bill collectors. I don't even remember the last time that happened, but I know I was sore and limping for a long time.

I glanced at my clock, which read 10:00. The roofers should be here soon, and then I would have some time for myself. My father didn't come home from the bar for at least five hours, more when the beer is priced lower. I turned around on the stairs and proceeded back up to my room, looking for a hairbrush. When I finally found one, I brushed my hair in the reflection of the broken glass. My dark brown hair was finally staying straight since I had fixed it to be that way last night after my shower. My hair was naturally curly and frizzy, so the only way I thought it looked good was straight. It fell about five inches past my shoulders, but not that far down my back. I set the hairbrush down and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was startled by the coldness of my usually bright brown eyes, that where shadowed by something I hadn't noticed before. A small, black bruise was surrounding my left eye, and it was defiantly noticeable. I grabbed my foundation out of my bag and set for work. I can't even remember how I got the stupid bruise anyway. Finally when my work was done, my eye looked normal, but just a bit swollen. Not bad for foundation.

I decided that I had spent enough time making myself presentable, and that I needed to get some work done. First off, I had to find the gas station. My poor truck was almost running on empty. Poor, poor truck. I sighed and grabbed a handful of coins off my dresser, hoping it would be enough for at least a few drops of gas. My low supply of money only meant that I needed to find a new job, in a strange new city.

Like I said, some things can't be helped.

~*~*~*~***~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Hey guys!**

**I'm back. I usually write for NCIS, and I'm of course busy writing and not getting nearly enough sleep thinking about plot lines ******

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**-Ashley and Sarah**


	2. Chapter 2

There wasn't a big crowd at the DX gas station when I rode up at around 11:30. It had taken me forever to find the place, and now that I had found it I realized it didn't look like much. Half the gas pumps looked so dirty that there was a good chance that mud would spurt out instead of gasoline, but this seemed like the cheapest place for gas, so it's the place for me. I gently pushed on the gas pedal of my old truck, hoping it wouldn't fall apart before I got to the gas pump. The last thing I needed was to have to buy a new car. I barely had enough money for gasoline, let alone even a steering wheel off a newer model truck.

I pulled out the keys and made my way to the building where I assumed I paid for gas. The white paint was chipping off the walls, even though it looked like there were several coats of paint. The large DX sign, coated with orange, white and blue paint, was rusted and old. It looked like it could fall over if it was given the chance. The brown roof was patched and torn, and I could hear the pounding of the company trying to restore it. _Good luck with that_. I thought as I worked my way towards the front.

"36 cents per gallon? Damn this gas station," I said, kicking at a piece of gravel before I entered into the store. I must have been loud, though, because one of the roofers had stopped working and was staring at me. I stared back, and we stayed like that for a good two minutes, tops.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I scuffed at him. The dark haired roofer laughed at me and then continued on his work. I knew that he was laughing at me, but he looked like a large builded muscular doofus, so I wasn't about to pick a fight with him. I sighed and walked into the store.

The _hmmm_ of the air conditioner was the first thing I heard when I walked inside. It was cooler in here than outside, which I was grateful for. The spring time heat was hotter than I'd ever experienced, and the fire house never had air conditioning. I would marry the owner of the DX just for the air conditioner if I was that desperate. But louder than the air conditioner was a teenage boy fighting with an older gentleman at the counter. I made my way towards the back, and heard their conversation as I passed.

"Listen to me, old geezer; it is **not** your motor. You made me check it five times, it's not in there."

"But it keeps making this noise, listen." The older man went and turned his key again, and the noise was a horrible _hisss_ that was coming from the car. The teenage boy shrugged. I looked at him more closely, wondering why this dip-shit wasn't helping like he was suppose to be doing .He wall tall and lean, having thick greasy hair that was curled back in complicated swirls. He was pissed, I could tell. He was leaning against the wall behind the counter, smoking, glaring at the older man. Poor old guy.

"There's nothing I can do about it man, It's not with the engine."

_Stupid dip-shit._ I thought. I walked up to the counter. The teenager didn't notice, and he started with the older man again, the two bickering the entire time. I looked at the car in the back. It was the same brand as my truck, so the engine must be the same, right? I knew a bit about cars, scratch that. I _love _cars and everything about them. The boy was the only one working today as far as I could tell. He still didn't even look my way when I swiftly jumped over the counter and landed with a _thud_ on the other side.

The older man saw me though, his eyes wide with shock. The teenager was still yelling at him about how life sucked and how he couldn't fix it. Sighing, I walked over to the car and lifted up the lid of the engine. I reached down inside by some parts and felt something slimy. I grabbed my hand around the oddly shaped object and yanked it out.

It was a pair of dentures.

"Do- do these belong to you?" I asked him, slightly gagging. Anything that was in other people's mouths just grossed me out.

The teenager finally noticed my existence, turning quickly on the heels of his white Converse to stare at me. "What the hell did you do? And where the hell did you find them teeth? Do I even want to know?" He asked, and then shouted out some more words that I couldn't hear but I knew by reading his lips that they were exactly nice.

The old man quickly regained his composure and walked over to where I standing, eyes wide. "My, my, it's Debra's teeth! My wife has been looking all around this 'here town for 'em. Thank you, young lady," he said, taking them from me. "You'd make a very good mechanic. This town here needs more people like you," the man said, and I watched with disbelief as he stuffed a few bills into my hand and went to leave.

"Hey, wait a minute," The teen said. "I'm the one who fixed your breaks. Don't I get paid for that?" The old man stared for a moment, then took a single dollar out of my outstretched palm and stuffed it into the pocket of the kid's shirt.

"There you go, son." The older gentleman said, and with that he got into his truck and drove away.

That's when he turned on me. I could have swore that he was about to beat the living shit out of me. I instinctively let my hand wander to my back pocket of my jeans where I kept my brother's old six inch switchblade. It was the last piece of my brother that I had left, and since I hadn't used a switch in a while, I was very hesitant about using it. I would if I had to, though, and I thought this moment might be one of those times until I heard the door open. I sighed with relief, until it occurred to me that he might help beat me up to.

The man who had walked through the door walked over to look at us. His dark gold hair was combed back, and I could tell it was long. His dark brown eyes glanced over us and the amazingly white smile that he was walked in with had now faded off his face into a frown. He was looking at me with curious eyes, like he could almost tell what I was grasping in my back pocket. "Steve, man, what are you doing? I told you that you ain't allowed to take girls back behind the counter after what happened the last time. Do I need to remind you?" He said, his eyes still watching me.

Steve turned to face him, his eyes still boiling mad. "Look Soda, man I didn't do nothin'. All I'm doin' is helping this old dude with his car and she just jumps back there behind the counter," Steve said, raising his hands above his head.

"That's a bunch of bullshit, Steve, and you know it," I said, finally invading on the conversation in which I was being left out of. My hand quickly came out of my back pocket and I stuffed it into a front one, hoping they didn't notice. "I just came in here to get gasoline after the creepy roofer dude practically eyed me down," I said, and I saw a look of realization on Soda's face. If that was his name. I wasn't sure because I was being held hostage in a gas station and they never told me there names.

"And this dip-shit was verbally harassing his sweet elderly gentlemen who just wanted his car fixed and Steve here was yelling because he'd already checked the motor five times but the problem was really in the oil pipe, okay? So I jumped across the counter to fix it and found a pair of dentures stuck in there and he gave me this money and then Steve was making a big deal on why he paid me and then turned on me. And that's when you came in," I said, finishing my monologue.

I slammed the money that I still had in my hand onto the counter and fished my change out of my pocket. "All I wanted was to get some gasoline for my car. I didn't want to get into the middle of anything, okay? You can have the money back, even though you treated me like I stole it. I got some change here, and I'll leave that on the counter next to and go pump my own gas," I said, tossing the coins onto the counter next to the crumpled bills, scattering several to the floor.

I headed towards the doorway and Steve immediately got out of my way. I guess I looked mad or something, because I heard Soda following after me out to my truck. I ignored him until I picked up the pump to put it into the car, because that's when he took the pump out of my hands and proceeded to pump the gas for me.

"I'm sorry about my friend in there. His name's Steve, and sometimes he takes things a little too seriously and a little too far. And by the way, I'm Sodapop," He said, watching the meter for the right amount to pop up on the gas tank.

"Your real name's Sodapop?" I asked.

He laughed at me. "I get a lot. But yeah, that's my name. I got a brother named Ponyboy, and the mean looking roofer that you were talkin' 'bout earlier was probably my other brother Darry. He always seems to give that effect on people."

"You guys sure got some wired ass names," I said, suddenly finding an interest in kicking at a stone with my shoe. "My name's Kelsey. I just moved here and this looked like the cheapest place for gasoline, so that's why I came."

"I wondered why I hadn't seen you around here," Soda said, and that's when the gas stopped pumping and he pulled out the pump, staring at my truck with a look of amusement and humor in his eye. "That thing really runs?" he asked me.

I smiled. "You'd be surprised on what this baby can do," I said. He didn't look too convinced, but that's what you get when you drive a truck older than your great- grandfather.

Sodapop laughed, and he finished pumping my gas. "It's been nice talking o you Kelsey, but I'd better get back inside." I looked up from my rock kicking state of mind and he smiled at me. "I gotta calm Steve down before he does something he'll regret later."

I watched as he walked back across the lot and went back inside the building, no doubt going to calm down his friend who almost beaten me with a cash register. I sighed and headed back towards my truck.

I opened the door and was about to climb inside when I heard a sound that would change the rest of my week forever.

The screeching of tires being turned to quickly against the road and loud screaming made me turn around to look. Flying up into the parking lot of the DX gas station was a blue Mustang which was carrying around four or five guys, I couldn't tell, they were going so fast. It surprised me to see a nice looking car in this part of town; from what I could tell the only cars driven out around here were beat up cars made from scrap pieces from the junk yard. From where I was standing I could see the mean looking roofer Darry look down upon it with a strange look on his face, and Steve and Soda almost immediately appeared at the window, glaring. I gulped and turned around to face the Mustang. By the time I looked they had already gotten out of their car and were walking my way, which surprised me. I panicked and a shiver went down my spine; I recognized the smell coming off of them. It was the rotten smell of cigarette smoke and beer that my dad usually had when he came home from the bar, and I realized that these guys meant trouble.

The broader, more muscular one had made his way out front, with the rest following behind, grinning. I gulped and instinctively back up so I was leaning against my truck. I pulled out a cigarette from my pocket and light it up with my lighter. I was trying to quit smoking, but now my hands were shaking so bad I couldn't help it. They were a few feet away from me know, watching me take a long drag off the cigarette before the one in front got close enough that I could smell the liquor on his breathe.

"Hey, baby," He said, putting an arm around my shoulder. I felt myself cringe at his touch and that seemed to please him more. "What's a nice thing like you hanging around a place like this?"

"Get your filthy ass hands off of me, now," I said, trying to duck under his arm. Suddenly he pulled me against his chest, not in a very good way, and I felt a piece of metal touch the base of my throat, right where my jaw line ended. It was a switch; what kind of idiot would pull a switch on a girl he was trying to get?

"Just get in the car, sweetie. I don't want to mess up your pretty face," he said, and I could clearly tell that this was more than just to get me on a date. I turned my head quickly towards the gas station. Steve and Soda were heading over this way fast, and Darry was climbing down from the roof. I couldn't let this happen to them. I barely knew them but yet, I felt like I didn't **want** anything to happen to them. Even though I barely knew them.

"You got a pretty face too," I said, quickly reaching for my switch in my back pocket. I pulled it out and snapped it open next to me, dropping my cigarette, at an angle where he could very well see the point of the knife gleaming in the distant sunlight. This seemed to surprise him and my grip tightened on the handle of the knife.

"To bad your face is about to get fucked up," I said, quickly ducking under his arm.

That's when the fight began.

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	3. Chapter 3

I slipped out from underneath the man's arm and kicked his legs out from under him, making him fall to the ground. I then proceeded to take my foot and kick forcefully where I knew it would hurt the most, and soon he was curled up into a fetal position, saying words that I would only say if a little kid had run over my foot with his tricycle. I finally gave some mercy and stopped for a whole two seconds, looking around.

The action was intense, and almost everyone was punching someone or being punched. Steve was holding one of the guys by his short, choppy hair and punched him in the guts. Soda had a guy in a headlock, and I could've sworn I saw Darry toss a guy off the roof. Then I saw Soda hit the ground, and I forgot about my own guy and ran towards him.

I've been in my own fair share of fights, hell, and even more then my own fair share. I've started a few good ones, ended some insanely ruff ones, and have even taken out five fully grown men with a foldable chair right in the middle of a fight. When I fought, I was a loner, with my only task being to get out alive, and screw the rest of 'em. But this fight was different. There were people here fighting that shouldn't have been here fighting, people who hardly knew me but they were willing to take a stand for me, the total stranger.

I couldn't figure out why I had left my own guy and ran over, but when I got there I tossed the drunk away from Soda and shoved him against the wall, backhanding him. He grabbed me by the waist and twisted me around, and again I felt the slicking coolness of a sharp metal blade being pressed against my neck. I stomped my foot down upon his and his reaction put so much force on the blade that I could feel blood trickling slowly down my neck.

Without thinking, action on an impulse, I grabbed my knife and shoved it into his thigh, right above the knee. He fell quicker then I had expected, pulling me with him to the ground. I broke out of his grip and pulled the knife out of his leg, breathing heavily. I could feel his blood on his hands and I felt like throwing up.

"You bastard," I said, kicking him on the side of his head. He yelped and staggered up, cursing under his breath.

"You little bitch," he murmured, and I slammed him into the wall again. He recovered quickly and slapped me across the face, knocking me to the ground. I laid there for a moment, shocked, breathing in the smell of the grass. By the time I lifted my head, the guys had retreated back into their car. I stood up and they drove out of the parking lot, blowing the horn. My hands were shaking and I really wished I had a cigarette, but I had just smoked my last one.

I pushed my hand against my neck, hoping to stop the blood flow, and I slipped my knife into my pocket. I felt bad for keeping it stained with blood, but I didn't have time to be a cleaning service. It didn't look like anyone else had come out as bad as me. Steve had a black eye, bigger than the one that I had covered up. Darry came out with a scratch on his arm, and Soda came out unharmed. "Damn him," I said quietly, cursing my neck with words that would make a sailor die with shame.

"You okay?" Steve asked. I guess I looked bad with my shaking hands and noticeable bloody neck.

"No, Steve, I'm just fine. I'm just about to die of blood loss. No, I'm not okay, you dip-shit," I said, not feeling in the mood to fight back against anybody. I wanted to slide down the wall and break into tears, but I knew better. Those guys smelt like alcohol and cigarettes, and when that mix combines with a drunk I immediately think of my dad beating the shit out of me."Damn," I continued, "I'm just fine."

"No, you're not," Soda said, staring, "I can see the blood. I'm not blind."

"Good for you. Your doctor will be glad to know that. Does anyone have a rag, or a cigarette? I'd rather have the cigarette, but I'm not picky," I said. Steve went inside and Soda fished a pack of Camels out of his pocket and handed them to me. I took three of them, emptying his carton, and lit the first one, finishing it in one drag.

"Why do you smoke so fast?" He asked.

I glared at him and stomped on the butt of the first cigarette. "You smoke to enjoy it," I said in reply, lighting the second one, "I smoke to die." He stared at me until Steve came out with a rag. I took it from him, licked the corner, and placed it against my neck. That's when I noticed Darry wasn't with us. "Where did Darry go?" I asked.

Soda's face was grim. "He's calling the guys. The Socs are getting way to careless about where they be driving. Especially in our territory," he said.

"Socs?" I asked.

"Yeah. Socs. They're the rich kids who wear madras jackets and kakis pants, driving the expensive cars. They also like to pick up on pretty girls and jump Greasers."

"Greasers?" I asked. "What's that?"

"That would be us," Steve said. "We're the dumb poor kids who play football and have long, greasy hair."

"So, do they think I'm a Greaser now or something?" I asked, lighting my second cigarette and taking a long drag.

"Something likes that," Soda said, and a couple minutes later Darry came back with a grim look on his face.

"The guys aren't very happy about this. Especially when I told them that they jumped a girl-"Darry started, but I cut him off.

"But I can fight, so I'm practically like a guy, only with boobs." I said. They stared at me. Even Darry stopped mid-sentence., because he only heard the end of my statement. "And just 'cause I mentioned I got boobs don't mean you guys can stare at 'em," I said and Steve's eyes fell down to the ground.

"Anyway," Darry said, "The guys aren't too happy with this."

"You expect them to?" Soda said, sarcastic.

"Very funny, Soda," Darry said, obviously not amused, "so now I have to make sure that Ponyboy doesn't go anywhere by himself."

"The kid's fast, Darry, he'll be fine," Steve said, "and he knows he ain't supposed to walk alone. And he never goes nowhere without Johnny anyway."

"You can tell that to him when he gets here." Darry said.

"You wanna bring him here? Is it safe?" Soda said, eyeing Darry as though he was crazy. Darry opened his mouth to respond, but Steve beat him too it.

"Chill Soda, it's not like they're gonna come back or anything," Steve said, smiling at Soda, "We scared the mother fucking shit out of those preppy rich-asses."

Soda rolled his eyes, and I noticed that he was the most relaxed out of the four of us. Darry was stiff and tall, maybe even thinking that he could scare the Socs away with his size. Steve was leaning against my truck, lighting up a cigarette, still tense. I felt perfectly calm, except for the fact that I was bleeding out of my neck and could have almost died. But Sodapop was relaxed as he was inside the DX before the fight.

Finished with my second cigarette, I threw it on the ground away from me and started up on my third, enjoying the fact that I could. I usually didn't get a lot of pocket change for cigarettes, so I wanted them to last.

We stood there in silence for a bit, until Darry finally moved about three minutes later. "I would stick around t'll Pony and the rest of them get here, but I got another job today. Something about a fire house."

My head perked eyes wide. _Ohhhh shit I'm dead now_, I thought.

"You tell Pony not to go anywhere without someone okays Soda?" Soda nodded and then Darry left walked over to an old ford on the other side of the lot.

By then, I was shaking. No, not shaking, in almost hysterics. I was supposed to say home all day, and look how I ended up. What happens if my father gets home before me? I would get such a beating if he found out I was gone.

"You okay?" Soda asked. I realized that they were now staring at me.

"I just need another cigarette. I could smoke a pack for breakfast if I wanted to. I always get like this after my near-death experiences," I said, trying to keep my voice calm as I watched Darry pull out of the lot and drive down the street.

"Well, you took all of mine, so I guess you'll just have to go without," Soda said.

I glared at him. "I'll just buy some later then," I said. "I got to get home anyway."

Soda said something but I couldn't hear him over the overwhelming sound of squeaky sneakers against pavement and a large amount of cussing. I turned around, along with Soda and Steve to see four people running towards us. The smallest of them all (and the scrawniest) made it to us first, and I could tell by his hair color that his must've been the kid brother Soda had that he had mentioned earlier. The second person who reached us was a boy that didn't look too much older, with his dark skin and shaggy bangs covering his forehead. The other two came trudging in behind; one of which who looked so drunk he could've fallen over if I poked him with the butt of my cigarette, and the last one with almost white hair and a face of that of an elf's.

"That didn't take you guys that long at all," Soda remarked, eyebrows rising.

"Is everything okay here?" The drunken one asked.

"Does it look like everything's okay, you drunken fool?" I asked, alerting the newcomers to my presence.

"My, my, ain't she a pretty face," He said, leaning against one of the gas pumps.

"I won't look to pretty when I kick your ass," I said, causing them to laugh. "I'm dead serious. I'm sick of shit today." They stared at me and that's when Soda stepped in.

"Oh, yeah. Guys, this is Kelsey. She was the one who got jumped with us-"

"I did not get jumped. I kicked ass and that's all I did."

"Then what's up with the cut on your neck?" Soda asked. That shut me up real well so he continued. "Kelsey, this is Ponyboy, my kid brother," he said, acknowledging the scrawny looking kid towards the back. "That there's Johnny," Soda said, pointing out the kid with the darker skin smoking a cigarette with Ponyboy in the back of our little huddle that we had formed. "The drunk one's Two-Bit, and get used to him, 'cause he's drunk a lot. And then there's Dally." Soda finished.

Steve broke the awkward silence. "Soda, you bringing Sandy tonight?" he asked. Soda nodded.

"Can I come? Me and Johnny won't do nothing to embarrass ya or anything'," Ponyboy asked.

"No, cause we're taken the girls out tonight. No kiddies aloud." Steve said. Soda shrugged, agreeing with him.

"That's okay. I'm seeking out some fun. Little kids allowed," Dally said, making Ponyboy perk up. I guess that he was going to take along. Not that I really cared. I was tired and I needed to get going before the old man got home.

"Not that I don't want to stay for your little tea party or whatever," I said to them, "But I got to get going."

"Where you going?" Soda asked me. I sighed and figured I might as well tell them.

"I'm headed to my house. That's where your brother is working on the roof."

"No kidding. Can you give him a message?" Soda asked. I nodded and I noticed that Two-Bit and Dally were talking quietly, looking over my way. "Can you tell Darry to pick up some groceries for the house? And if he asks why I isn't doing it, tell 'em I'm broke."

"But you have enough to take Sandy out," Ponyboy commented. Soda glared and I waved them goodbye.

"Nice meeting y'all," Two-Bit said, making no sense what so ever as I headed for my truck.

I waved as I left, and got into my truck. I started it up, and was relieved that those dip-shits didn't mess up my baby in any way. Listening to it purr, I pulled out of the gas station, the tears falling as I drove away.

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